


Springtime

by Emolga



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Canon - Manga, Gen, Spoilers for the Manga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 14:21:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emolga/pseuds/Emolga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reminders of loss can be found anywhere. [SPOILERS for the manga; Baba Yaga arc.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Springtime

Springtime in Japan reminds her of the day he died.  
  
Each warm gust of stagnant wind loosens blush-colored petals from old branches, sending them spiraling down to earth like wounded birds. She extends her left arm, fingers spread out wide and curving upwards as if gesturing towards the expanse of blue above; a delicate segment of the dying flower lands off-center against her upward-facing palm, its browning edges kissing the slope where her thumb connects to the rest of her hand. It feels soft and somewhat rubbery against her skin, and she closes her hand into a fist around it, fingernails biting tiny crescents against its malleable surface.  
  
The air feels unpleasant today. It’s unseasonably humid, and the sticky warmth reminds her far too much of sliding into an innocent man’s chest and coming out the other side, body-turned-steel bathed in blood.  
  
— Enough of those unpleasant thoughts.  
  
Grass tickles the bare soles of her feet as she moves towards the tree’s weathered trunk, peering around it searchingly through cautiously squinted eyes. Unfortunately there’s nothing to be found, though she’s hardly surprised: A hiding place like that is far too obvious, even for a child.  
  
These games are more tiring than she expected. She opens her fist, and the crushed petal drifts haltingly to the ground beside her heel, largely forgotten.  
  
Although her partner is nowhere to be seen, it’s still far from silent: The first few cicadas of the season have started to call out against the stifling weather, their voices muffled by oppressive heat. Part of her wishes that summer would come early this year so she could drown all of these intrusive thoughts in the water of the lakes, but there are responsibilities to address back at home, responsibilities that aren’t willing to wait while she tries to swim away from her troubles — and it’s strange that the Academy feels more like home than her own place of birth, but there’s something missing here that can’t ever be replaced.  
  
As it turns out, springtime in Japan also reminds her of her brother.  
  
Her back finds the bark of the tree, and she leans against it with a defeated sigh, feeling rough scales of wood beneath her fingertips. She didn’t come out here to mope, and yet here she is, sulking beneath the rain of cherry blossoms and feeling sorry for herself. Considering that both she and her partner lived through their potentially-fatal skirmishes, she should be feeling a lot less remorseful and a lot more blessed, shouldn’t she? She still has her body, her soul, and what remains of her family; there are people who have much less, people like—  
  
“— Got you again!”  
  
A pair of large white gloves encloses harmlessly around her bare legs, squeezing affectionately. Tsubaki looks down and smiles, her hand lowering to rest atop the slowly-materializing mop of brown hair.  
  
“You’re getting so much better, Angela,” she praises, inwardly grateful to be distracted from her heavy-hearted musing. “I didn’t even hear you that time!”  
The child’s bright smile glints in the harsh sunlight, shadows from the branches above dancing across her vibrant face. She’s understandably pleased with herself; being able to vanish her hands along with the rest of her is a recent development in her abilities.  
“Yeah, I bet I can even sneak up on Stupidface now,” the little witch enthuses, bouncing on her heels as she raises her arms in a wordless plea to be picked up. Tsubaki laughingly obliges, setting the fidgety child atop her shoulder and steadying her with a firm hand.  
“I’ll show Mifune, too,” the girl vows seriously, “once he comes back.”  
  
Tsubaki’s laughter catches in her throat; the cicadas scream.  
  
“… Let’s go see what my Father’s made us for lunch,” she suggests as a means of changing the subject, offering the witch a strained smile. Sweet little Angela — too innocent to spot her new guardian’s falsehood, too young to figure out why her beloved samurai is never coming home — nods in excitement, her tiny arms slinging around the Dark Arm’s neck.  
“Okay,” she agrees happily, converting her light grasp into something more akin to a hug. “Thanks for playing games with me, Tsubaki; and thanks for bringing me to Japan with you and Spiky.” She cuddles up close in spite of the heat. “I love you!”  
“I love you, too,” Tsubaki answers automatically, relieved that Angela doesn’t appear to detect the catch in her voice.  
  
The sole heir to the Nakatsukasa lineage begins the short walk back to the dojo, ignoring the swell of petals as a cool gust breathes the illusion of life back into their broken bodies.  
  
“Let’s invite Mifune next time, too,” Angela suggests, smiling down at cherry blossoms as they dance.  
  
Tsubaki remains dutifully silent.

**Author's Note:**

> COME ON GUYS, where's all the Tsubaki fic?
> 
> I'M WAITING.
> 
> (also I could take up all 5,000 characters here ranting about how goddamn stupid it was that Mifune ~*had to die*~ in order for Black*Star to master the Path of the Warrior or whatever Ohkubo's excuse was, but I'll spare you.)


End file.
